


Stay Alive

by ficdirectory



Category: The Fosters (TV 2013)
Genre: Food Issues, Gen, Overstimulation, Past Abuse, Past Sexual Assault, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Stay Alive Universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-17
Updated: 2019-11-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:15:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21575113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ficdirectory/pseuds/ficdirectory
Summary: Isaac and Jesus successfully escape their kidnapper in June of 2010.  What happens next?  How does Isaac cope in the aftermath?  An AU take on events in Disuphere.
Comments: 14
Kudos: 6





	1. Getting Away

_Snap!_

Jacob gasped as Josh dropped the saw. The chain was in two pieces. Both of them stared, shocked. Jacob was still in shock or something when Josh asked him a question: 

“Okay. You’re gonna have to carry this part with you, or drag it. Can you walk?”

“Yeah,” Jacob said, but he wasn’t so sure he could.

Josh ran ahead upstairs and started checking doors, in case He forgot to lock one. No such luck. Jacob gingerly picked up the hacksaw and tried to carry it with him.

“Bro! What are you doing?!” Josh exclaimed, taking the saw from Jacob as Jacob stumbled.

“Maybe we can use this!” Jacob offered. “To saw through a lock!”

“Good idea!” Josh decided.

They ran upstairs. 

Well...Josh ran. Jacob sort of hobbled. Then, finally, gave up and crawled. His legs were super-weak. And he was exhausted just from coming upstairs.

Josh’s mind looked like it was going a mile a minute. Jacob knew him well enough to know he was thinking he had to figure this out. There was no point in wasting time trying to saw through a lock. They both just knew that there was still a big chance that He could come back early. Just to mess with their minds. Or just messing with them, period.

And what would He even do if he saw Jacob was free?

They couldn’t wait around here. They had to get out.

Josh darted from room to room. 

Jacob looked around slowly, and his heart fell as it clicked. All the windows had boards on them so no light leaked in.

But maybe....

“Yes! The window’s cracked in here!” Josh whispered in a loud voice. 

There were agonizing seconds Jacob tried to walk - his chain dragging - seconds it took Josh to find Jacob. 

“Sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me…” Jacob said, winded.

“Can you just hold this?” he asked, giving Jacob the tail end of the chain “You hold that part and I’ll get you. His room’s on the first floor. So we’ll just go out into the side yard,” Josh explained.

“And have Him see and catch us? No!” Jacob exclaimed, white-faced.

“Bro. This is our only chance. I’ll help you. We’ll go together. But we have to go now,” Josh begged. “Don’t you want that giant sundae? And to see your mom? And Charles?”

“You know I do…” Jacob muttered, wiping his eyes.

“Let’s go, then.”

“I just...don’t want you to touch me…” Jacob warned.

“I know...but bro, I’m not leaving you behind. Can I at least carry you?” Josh asked.

“Fine...I mean, I guess…” Jacob relented.

Josh let out a huge breath of air...and Jacob braced himself as Josh helped him onto the window sill.

“The screen’s still in…” Jacob whispered to Josh.

Josh moved him to the side like he weighed nothing and shoved it out with no problem. It wasn’t like Josh was very big, but he was strong. Must be all the food he got to eat.

Jacob tried not to be jealous.

Dry grass stabbed Jacob’s bare feet and sunlight hurt his eyes. He couldn’t see. His eyes were tearing so bad, like he was allergic to the brightness. Putting all his weight on his hands, leaning on the window sill, he tried not to fall on his knees. That would only hurt worse.

“Hang onto this,” Josh reminded, and Jacob felt the end of the gross chain in his hand. “I got you. Hang on around my neck, okay? And try not to choke me with that thing…”

“He’s gonna find us…” Jacob whimpered, feeling dizzy.

“No, He’s at school until after 4:00. That’s hours away,” Josh panted.

“Where are we gonna go?” Jacob whispered. With every step Josh took, Jacob’s sore body was jostled. Bounced against his back. His ankle chain pulled. He still couldn’t see...and he was weirdly embarrassed that whoever found them would think Jacob was some baby who couldn’t stop crying.

Tires screeched and Josh tensed.

“What happened to you?” an unfamiliar voice asked. It reminded Jacob of his grandpa. Or maybe his dad, if his dad were still alive.

Josh wasn’t talking. He was frozen.

Jacob forced his eyes open. Saw a man shape in the glare. “Please...help us. We were kidnapped. Can we ride with you?” he asked, stumbling over his words.

“No…” Josh hissed. “We’re not getting in a car with them! This is how this whole thing started, remember?”

“George, look at this boy’s ankle,” the woman exclaimed. “He’s got a chain on him. Hurry up, now! We’ve got to get them in the car and out of the street. Don’t you worry,” she reassured them.

Jacob felt other hands on him and went limp. It was the easiest way to just take whatever happened. But the next thing he knew, he was in a hot car that smelled like spearmint gum, grandma-perfume, and calm, steady man smell.

“Are you two brother and sister?” George asked, and Josh blushed to the roots of his hair.

“George, come on. Drive before whoever took them comes back around looking. I’m Fannie, and you children are safe now.”

“You talk kinda weird,” Josh blurted.

“Oh, we’re here vacationing from North Dakota. What should we do, George?” Fannie asked, worry edging her voice.

“Go to the police station, I expect…”

“No! The police will just send us back!” Josh exclaimed. “Please...can I… Will you let us call our parents?”

Josh accepted George’s phone and immediately dialed a number. Started talking low.

Jacob went slower. He wiped his face with the giant gross man shirt until he could kinda see Fannie’s phone with giant buttons. It was a good thing, too, those giant buttons because he was still struggling to see. Jacob tried to think. To remember Mom’s cell number. Hoped she didn’t change it.

He dialed.

_“Hello?”_

His whole body went numb hearing her voice. His mom’s real voice. His mom he thought was dead. Wasn’t dead. She was here. Talking to him right now.

_“Who is this?”_ she asked.

_Isaac. It’s Isaac. Not Jacob. Say it fast, before she hangs up._

“Mom? It’s me,” he managed in a tiny voice.

_“Oh, my God. Ike, honey? Is that you?_ ” she asked. _“Wait. This number says North Dakota. Where are you?”_

Isaac covered the mouthpiece and whispered, embarrassed: “Are we still in California?”

“Los Angeles,” George confirms.

“I’m in LA. I just got away. Me and another boy. Please, Mom. Please come,” Isaac begged, his throat dry. His head heavy. 

“Where, in LA, honey? I need to know where to find you!”

“They’re taking us to the hospital, I guess…” Isaac passed along after checking with Fannie.

He wanted to listen to his mom forever, but it didn’t work like that. He had to hang up. What if Fannie didn’t have unlimited minutes?

He was so tired, he was starting to nod off against the seat.

“My mom’s a cop. She believed me. She’s coming,” Josh said.

“Hey...What’s your real name?” Isaac asked, as his eyes fall closed.

“Jesus… Jesus Adams Foster.” Josh - or Jesus said. It was the weirdest thing ever.

“I knew it,” Isaac breathed. “I recognized you. I’m Isaac Martin. You know that already. Ow…” he complained as the car jostled him.

“Still,” Jesus nodded. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Isaac said back and drifted off.

\--

The hospital was loud and bustling. And he and Jesus weren’t going to be allowed to stay together, except Jesus wouldn’t let Isaac go anywhere without him.

“Oh, let them stay together,” Fannie’s voice begged from somewhere far away. “They’ve been through so much.”

Isaac couldn’t concentrate, with all the noise. It reminded him of Down There with all His music and evil laughing and just everything. 

Jesus sat close as doctors examined Isaac, carefully cutting the chain off his ankle. The skin underneath was raw and painful. Like the chain marks on all the rest of his body, too. He heard the clinking of the tiny chain as it fell away to somewhere else, and Isaac couldn’t fight anymore.

He was free. He was safe.

They both were.

Breathing was hard. The room was dizzy, spinning. 

Then black.

Nothing.


	2. Losing Jacob

When Isaac wakes up again, there’s a mask on his face. He can’t move. Searches for chains holding him to the bed.

But there’s no need for chains anymore. Not when every part of him feels like it weighs a million pounds. Not when Isaac has no energy to do anything. Not even fight.

The energy to fight ran out a long time ago.

The mask has a sick, strong plasticky smell. It reminds Isaac in ways he can’t name of Him. His mouth. His suffocating feeling that stole Ike’s breath whenever He came too close.

Isaac wants to rip off the mask and throw it across the room, but he can’t make his arm move. There’s an IV in it.

Why? What’s he sick with?

“Mom…” he croaks, finally risking it. 

There’s a sleeping woman, with her head resting on Isaac’s bed. It looks like she could be Isaac’s mom, but so much of today ( _Is it still today?_ ) has felt like a dream, he’s not so sure what’s real.

Ike’s fingers itch to touch the top of her head. To see if her hair is still the combo of soft and crunchy, but he’s so tired.

She finally moves a little. Sits up. Looks at him. Breaks. 

“Oh, my God. Honey,” she says, and it _is_ his mom. Really. Not a cop like Jeuss’s mom, maybe, but still his protector. The person he needed to get through this life. “Ikey…”

“Mom...please…” Isaac says. But he can’t even get the strength he needs to be embarrassed right now. “Is He… I mean, did they…” he tries.

“What, sweetie?” Mom asks, brushing his hair back from his face. It’s way too shaggy and long now. Dirty. Isaac wants to shower for a thousand years.

Doesn’t like her hand there.

“I don’t want Him to…” Isaac begins and looks away. “...get me, or hurt me...or Jesus.”

“No. Oh, no… The police got Him. You don’t need to worry. He can’t hurt you.... Did you say Jesus?” Mom asks.

“I’m tired…” Isaac yawns.

And just like that, he falls asleep again.

\--

It feels like he spends most of his time sleeping. 

The rest of it, he spends trying to forget all the medical tests they do. Mom stays and holds his hand, even though Isaac gets medicine to make him go to sleep for it.

Afterward, he gets to shower but he can’t even stand, so they give him a chair and he just sits under the water forever. The water and the steam make him want to cry. Coughing happens instead. They say he has pneumonia.

He’ll get better in a few weeks, maybe.

He’ll lose the cough and the feeling he can’t catch his breath.

Still, Isaac can’t shake the feeling… The feeling where he kind of wishes he could shed his skin like some kind of reptile or bird. That it could slip off his bones and down the drain. So he could find the part of him that was the grossest, and just...get rid of it.

But this is the skin he has. Full of scars and marks and everything.

This is the body he has...with pneumonia inside...and whatever He left behind.

Isaac shudders.

Feels the last bits of Jacob slip from around him. Invisible.

But Isaac watches hard. Tries to see it washing down the drain with all the dirt.

When he’s done, he’s really done. His mom’s brought comfy pajamas for him. Isaac feels a fist-sized lump wedged in the back of his throat. Because he hasn’t worn pajamas since Christmas Eve, when he was eleven.

Now, he’s twelve, and so much has changed.

But maybe it’s like Jesus said.

All they have to do is stay alive.

They did that part.

What comes next?


	3. Not It

It’s July before Isaac is rid of the pneumonia for real. Even then, it’s like, he doesn’t have his usual energy. 

His cousins, ten-year-old Bee and six-year-old Briar have no tact. They keep asking him stuff the first real time they can get together, about a month after Isaac first got away:

“Why do you walk like that?” Briar asks.

Isaac tries not to care. Not to listen. He can’t care about stuff this small. Still, the words sting.

“Can he even hear me?” Briar asks Bee. “Hello?!” she asks right in Isaac’s face.

But he just blocks her out. He’s had to block out way worse for way longer. It’s no big deal to do it now. The worst is just that there’s too much going on. Mom’s talking to Steve and Meryl at the table, but she keeps an eye on him.

Slowly, Isaac makes his way over.

“You okay?” she asks, pulling him close.

Isaac has no idea what to say. Hates the feeling he gets with Steve looking at him.

“Isaac! Wanna play tag?” Bee bellows - her usual voice seems even louder than it did when she was nine.

He doesn’t know what to say. How to react. The coffee pot’s brewing strong, black Folgers. Steve and Meryl are talking. There are cards on the table, like from a deck, all of them with swirling red designs on the back.

Bee steps up and taps Isaac on the chest with her whole hand, hard. “Tag! You’re it!” she says, and runs away.

And Isaac has no idea why, but his face just crumbles. He hides his face in his mom’s shoulder and sobs. And he can’t stop.

“ _ What’s the big deal _ ?” he hears Briar say. “ _ It’s just tag _ .”

“Honey. Are you hurt? Did she hurt you?” Mom asks.

“Come on, Allie. We both saw. She didn’t hurt him. She’s smaller than he is, for crying out loud.”

Charles is at Isaac’s side. (He had known Isaac right away and seems to get that something’s changed now.)

“He’s been home for a month. You can’t keep babying him like this, or he’s never going to get back to regular life…” Meryl remarks.

It’s like they’ve all forgotten that Isaac can hear them. That he’s even in the room. He wants to stop crying - wants to stop all this - but he can’t.

“Come on girls. Let’s go. Let’s give Isaac some space,” Steve says.

\--

“It’s okay to have all your feelings, okay?” Mom says gently. “It really is. I just want to help you calm down… So, take a slow deep breath in with me…”

Isaac’s isn’t as smooth as Mom’s. His is weird and gaspy. Isaac hates crying now. It’s all he did when he was Down There. So, when he does it now, it makes him remember.

“Do you need to talk about what happened?” Mom presses gently, once he’s stopped crying so hard. Tears still fall from his eyes, like his tear ducts have a leak.

Isaac shakes his head.

“Bee tagged you and you seemed… Were you startled, honey?” Mom tries.

“Mom…” Isaac begs. “Please… Just don’t… Don’t make me talk about it.”

_ Don’t make me talk about sudden touches, definite touches, touches that just don’t care. _

“Okay. I won’t. What about a counselor? We saw Dr. Max back when Dad had his accident.”

“Would it be her again?” Isaac asks, feeling like Jacob, more than himself. Maybe Jacob  _ was  _ his real self now. Maybe Isaac and all his  _ Beforeness  _ was just gone. On that sidewalk with the apartment in sight.

“No, honey. It would be someone different,” Mom admits.

And this has Isaac breaking down again. He can’t handle anymore changes. Anymore suddenness. After almost six months of nothing changing, all the changes out here just feel like too much. He can’t handle it.

“You want me to hold you?” Mom asks, sounding desperate to help.

But Isaac shakes his head. “Stay...and...talk to me…” he begs.

“Yes. I will always stay and talk to you. Because I missed talking to you so much.”

But it turns out, Mom can’t think of much to say.

The silence is okay. Kind of new. Kind of good. Better than all the noise with his cousins here.

“Mom?” Isaac asks, hesitating. “When will everything stop feeling like too much?”

“I’m not sure, honey. But I’ll be here to help you, okay? I promise,” Mom says.

“Back at That House…” Isaac whispers. “He told me you died. He said  _ that  _ was a promise. Am I dreaming? Is this just a really long, dream, Mom?”

“No, Isaac. It’s not. I’m really here with you. You really got away last month. And some nice people helped you? What were their names?”

“George and Fannie…” Isaac manages.

“That’s right,” Mom soothes him. “George and Fannie. And they were vacationing. Where were they from originally?”

“North Dakota…” Isaac remembers, calming some. “Jesus said they talked funny.”

“Did he?” Mom asks, interested. When Isaac doesn’t add anything, Mom goes on, softer. “You’re safe here with me now. He can’t hurt you anymore. Nobody’s going to hurt you.”

“Then, don’t let her tag me…” Isaac begs. “I hate being  _ it _ .”

“I won’t let her tag you anymore. I’m so sorry I didn’t stop her. I should have,” Mom apologizes.

“Everything’s too much and I hate being  _ it _ ...” Isaac tries to explain. “It used to be the same. Just day after day after day of sameness. Bad sameness, but… Now, it’s like… I never know what’s coming. And when this thing happened? I didn’t see it coming. So I always have to know. That’s sort of the feeling…” Isaac tries to explain.

“Okay. I hear you saying everything’s too much. So we’re gonna slow down. Take the rest of the summer, just you and me. We’ll figure out a safe routine so you know what to expect. And I know you hate being  _ it _ , so I’ll be sure nobody tags you,” Mom reassures.

“I don’t wanna talk about it…” Isaac sighs. 

By now his tears are dry on his face. His eyes feel heavy. He falls asleep using Charles as a pillow.


	4. What's Normal

Mom keeps her word. 

The rest of the summer is calm and...not really safe...but at least predictable. School is coming up in a couple weeks. Mom isn’t sure Isaac’s ready. Isaac isn’t sure either. He missed three quarters of sixth grade, but studying at home gave him something to do, so he feels like he can easily go to seventh grade, classwork wise.

It’s everything else that worries him. The other kids, asking questions. Every unpredictable thing.

Just the idea of seeing Asher again makes Isaac have panic attacks. Will Asher even want to be his friend anymore? Will he be mad if he knows Isaac has no plans to ever come over and hang out on Christmas ever again? Because he can’t risk it?

Mom does find him a counselor. She’s okay and everything, but he doesn’t like going. He doesn’t like having to find words for everything he was never allowed to say or talk about.

Her name is Krista. And Mom is here with him at every session. Because after so long apart, if she goes away, it freaks Isaac out.

“So, Isaac. Your mom was just saying you’ve been having a hard time lately,” Krista begins.

Isaac refolds the Karate Kid bandana Mom bought him for his hair. It’s too long now, but the idea of cutting it just feels wrong somehow. He puts the bandana around Charles’s neck. (Kids at school will make fun of him for having a bandana with a flower on it, but whatever, Jaden Smith’s in  _ The Karate Kid _ , and that’s, like, the best movie ever.)

“What was your first clue?” he asks, and he doesn’t know why it came out like that. Why he has to be so mean whenever they talk about his feelings, except that it makes him feel like some sub-defective.

He likes that they keep the lights dim in here. That he’s allowed to pretty much do whatever he wants, and no one will give him a hard time about it.

“What’s got you feeling upset right now?” Krista tries again.

“Everybody’s gonna make fun of my bandana!” Isaac explodes with a fury so intense it startles even him. 

“Who’s everybody?” Krista prompts.

“Like, kids at school or whatever…” Isaac mutters, taking the bandana off Charles and putting it back on his own head to keep his hair out of his eyes.

“Are you nervous about going back to school?” Krista asks.

“Yes…” Isaac admits. “I was already a loser because I was smart. Now…” he shrugs. “I don’t know what I am…”

“Have you thought about which class you feel comfortable starting back with?” Krista asks.

(They’ve been trying to get him to decide this forever, but it’s too much pressure. He gets they want him to have control, but it’s too confusing to go from having no control - not even over when or where you went to the bathroom, showered, or got to wear clothes - to having all the control.)

“A quiet one?” Isaac offers. “I can’t decide. You guys pick.”

But everything they suggest just makes Isaac more and more nervous. Every class has bright, buzzing lights, tons of kids and noise, not to mention the chances of bad stuff happening.

\--

On the first day of school, Mom asks if Isaac wants to stand out in front of the house in his school clothes for a picture.

He does it, but he’s in this weird headspace where he feels like this is a definite upgrade (asking if he wants his picture taken, a picture taken with not just any clothes but nice ones Isaac wanted.) He felt like he should say yes. Like saying yes told his mom the same thing “thank you” might.

So, Isaac did it. He stood on the front steps. No backpack. New shoes, new clothes. Same hair and bandana because nobody could convince him to cut it.

“Can I put this on Facebook?” Mom asks.

Isaac considers this. He doesn’t really care if all her mom-friends see his picture. Also, he knows it’s what everybody’s parents do. He doesn’t want Mom to feel left out.

He sits beside her on the couch as she posts to her laptop:

_ First day of school _ and the picture beneath. That’s it.

But she’s scrolling down the page a little, and Isaac catches sight of it. A big block of text and a picture of Jesus. Jesus and one, two, three, four, five other kids. One is just a baby. Three are white. Only one looks like Jesus. That must be his twin.

“Wait. Can I read it?” Isaac asks.

“Sure,” Mom hands over the laptop. It’s warm as a pet on Isaac’s lap.

**Lena Adams Foster:** _ Dreams do come true. Jesus is home and ready to start school with his siblings! But in a strange twist of fate, this is also the day, three years ago that we lost our precious son. We’re all too aware of the date and what it signifies, but have made the decision as a family to carry forward together. Can’t believe we have a 9th grader, an 8th grader, TWO seventh graders and a fifth grader to send to school today. (No school for Frankie yet, but Jesus just can’t seem to part with her.) _

“He said he had one brother and one sister,” Isaac observes, confused.

“What’s that, honey?” Mom asks.

“Jesus. He said he had one brother and one sister. He actually has all these other ones,” Isaac gestures to the screen.

Mom sits down to look. “Yeah. I’ve talked to his moms a little bit. They adopted two more kids about a year after he...and Lena had the baby last April…”

“So, they just...replaced him with other kids?” Isaac asks, confused. “That’s harsh.”

“It is, if that’s why they did it. But we don’t know why they did it, okay?” Mom reminds Isaac.

“It’s his day. Like his whatever-day, you know? Like Christmas is for me?” Isaac points out.

“I see that,” Mom nods, sad.

“Do you think it’s fair that he has to just go on like nothing happened? Go to school? Smile for pictures? Because I don’t. I think he should get tutored at home like me, if he wants. And get to stay home on his day, and just do whatever safe things he wants.”

“Is that what you want to do on yours?” Mom asks carefully. “Stay home and do whatever safe things you want?”

“I think…” Isaac nods. “I also...kinda wanna call him...just to talk to him. To see if he’s okay.”

“I think that sounds like a great idea. Maybe this afternoon, once school’s over for him.”

(Isaac’s tutoring only lasts three hours total. It’s a nice teacher who is patient and understands that a lot happened to Isaac and he might need breaks or his mom or Charles - or his mom  _ and _ Charles - to come and sit with him, in order for Isaac to feel safe enough to concentrate.)

School’s done by 3:30 and by then, Mom says Isaac can call Jesus if he wants. She’s sent Lena a message asking if it’s okay with Jesus and she wrote back saying it was, and with his number.

Isaac calls right away:

“Hey.”

“Hey,” Jesus says back. “Why’d you wanna call me?”

“Um, just...you know...the day and whatever…” Isaac manages, stumbling over his words. (Maybe this was a terrible idea.)

“Oh,” Jesus says.

Isaac can hear him walking, walking, walking. A door closing. He drops his voice: 

“No one here talks about the day,” Jesus admits.

“Oh,” Isaac says.

“They don’t wanna freak me out or whatever. But I’m freaked out already, you know?” Jesus asks.

“Yeah. I know. I’m getting tutored,” Isaac offers.

“Yeah, rub it in,” Jesus says, but Isaac can hear the smile in his voice.

“Are you gonna be okay today?” Isaac asks, quiet.

“I’m gonna try,” Jesus says, letting out a shuddery breath.

“Remember. All we have to do is stay alive, right?” Isaac asks.

“Right. Yeah, that’s right,” Jesus brightens a little. “Thanks, bro.”

“How come you have a billion more brothers and sisters than you thought?” Isaac asks.

“Who even knows? The baby’s cool, though,” he offers.

“Cool,” Isaac echoes. “Hey, would you ever make fun of me for wearing a bandana with a flower on it?”

“Like  _ The Karate Kid _ ?! No way! I’d be hella jealous!” Jesus insists.

“Oh,” Isaac answers, feeling happier. “My hair’s still long…” he admits.

“I cut mine,” Jesus answers.

“Is it okay that we do things different from each other?” Isaac asks.

“I don’t know,” Jesus admits. There’s a voice calling out in the background. “Sorry, I’m in the bathroom for privacy, and Jude has to go. My little brother.”

“Save my number,” Isaac blurts.

“Of course. If you save mine,” Jesus bargains.

“Yeah,” Isaac nods. “Bye.”

“Bye.”


	5. Wrong Fear

Almost two months into tutoring, and Isaac is way ahead and loving it. Three hours is long enough to learn stuff, but not too long to get exhausted from all the concentrating. Plus, the tutor doesn’t give him homework, knowing how hard it is for him to just absorb information.

Isaac really wants to go Trick or Treating, but he’s nervous about the idea of walking in the dark. So is his mom. So they compromise and go to a Trunk or Treat thing at a local church. Isaac kinda wishes he had chosen a costume that would disguise him more than The Karate Kid.

He forgot his face is still pretty recognizable from the news and whatever. (Mom just unplugged their landline and did a thing so that if any press came into their yard those early days they’d get in big trouble.

“Do you think I’m too obvious?” Isaac asks, fumbling with his pumpkin bucket - that will hopefully hold a ton of candy. He has his bandana, of course, plus a plain white shirt and black athletic pants. The shirt has a little patch on it, to show that it’s not just any white shirt, but an official one.

“What do you mean?” Mom asks.

“I mean, like...Charles is a dinosaur. He’s more disguised than I am…” Isaac points out. (Charles has the best costume, green and spiky with a tail and everything. And he was such a good sport about putting it on.)

“Do you think you need to be disguised?” Mom asks, like the thought is just occurring to her now.

Isaac shrugs. “It’s kinda too late now. We’re here.”

“Alright, well if you ever wanna go, just say the word,” Mom reminds. 

“Yeah, I know. This isn’t stressful, Mom. It’s Halloween,” Isaac says.

He gets out of the car, and it doesn’t take long to realize that Isaac’s the oldest one here. None of the other kids are twelve. Maybe eight at the oldest. He feels small. And stupid. And wrong.

The trip from car to car feels nothing like usual Trick-or-Treating. And it’s still nerve-wracking to be out when it’s starting to get dark. Isaac keeps checking hyperly for Mom. Holds Charles’s leash tightly in one hand, his candy bucket clutched in the other.

The whispers about him start almost right away. The way people turn to stare at him and then quickly face away, like they weren’t looking when they really were.

Isaac tries to ignore them and just focus on the candy when a voice interrupts them:

“So nice to see you out!”

Isaac eyes her warily. “You, too…” he returns, not even knowing what to say. What do you say to a stranger who looks so happy over something so weird?

Mom stays close and says it’s fine and he keeps going down the lines of trunks.

He glances up sharply when a man yells his name:

_ “Isaac!” _

_ “Oh, it  _ is _ him!” _

While Isaac hasn’t been looking, more and more people have gotten here to the church parking lot. They’re all surrounding him.

One lady barges to the front of the crowd and says, “ _ I’m surprised to see him out at such a frightening time of year _ …” to Isaac’s mom, like Isaac isn’t even there. “ _ Him being so vulnerable and all _ …”

Isaac wants to shout that he’s not afraid of baby haunted houses, fake ghosts or Dracula. All those things are so obviously fake. Isaac’s scared of real things. (Pumpkin carving had little knives with super sharp blades that freaked Isaac out and made him remember all the weapons in That House. The gun, the hacksaw, and the knives, too.)

“Please, if you’ll excuse us,” Mom says trying to move past the crowd, but it moves with them, as if it’s attached.

Annoying.

_ “Isaac, did you ever think you’d be Trick-or-Treating again, after all this time?” _

_ “How’s Jesus doing?” _

That last question makes Isaac’s stomach clench, because he hasn’t heard from Jesus since school started. Jesus hasn’t called at all. Isaac wonders if maybe it was the wrong thing to do, calling him.

There’s also that old spark of jealousy. Because Jesus was the one who got to walk around. Go to school. Be normal. Or as normal as possible anyway. And it seemed like whenever anybody found Isaac out doing normal stuff, they wanted to ask about Jesus and how he was.

(Even though, when they asked about Isaac, he wished they wouldn’t.)

Life was so confusing now.

“Let’s go,” he whispers to Mom when his bucket’s full.

They get in the car and drive back home. Isaac dumps out all of his candy. It’s so hard not to eat all of it right now. (Still hard not to go to bed with a water bottle and some food stashed under his bed for safekeeping.)

Plus, more often than not, he ends up in Mom’s room anyway, sleeping on her floor. He’s made a whole fort there by now, with blankets and chairs and pillows and stuff. So he has his own space, but not too much of it.

“You need me to help you manage this?” Mom asks.

Isaac gives her a dirty look. But then slides the candy on the table minutely in her direction.

“We’ll make sure you can have all of this, alright? Just not all at once,” Mom says gently.

“Can I call Jesus? See what he dressed up as?” Isaac asks.

“Sure,” Mom says, because it’s only 7:30.

Isaac calls, and the phone rings and rings until the automated voice message answers. It startles Isaac so he hangs up and tries their home number.

A lady answers, impatient. 

_ “Hello?” _

“Is Jesus there?” Isaac asks.

_ “Can I ask who’s calling?” _ the woman asks, still not even a little friendly.

“Uh...it’s Isaac. His...friend,” Isaac ventures.

_ “Jesus can’t talk right now.”  _ There’s some noise on the other end, and she lowers her voice.  _ “Jesus is just trying to move on, okay? Nothing against you. I’m sure you’re a very nice boy. But Jesus doesn’t need to be stuck in the past. Please...don’t call here again.” _

Isaac hangs up, feeling the loneliest he ever felt. It’s like he’s back Down There again, before he ever met Jesus.

He doesn’t know what to do with Jesus not wanting to talk anymore.

So Isaac doesn’t do anything.


	6. Thanksgiving Biscuits

It’s Thanksgiving Day, and Isaac and Mom have a compromise. They’ll go to the big family Thanksgiving with Steve and Meryl, Bee and Briar, and Scott, but they’ll only stay for half an hour. Long enough to eat some food and then come back home.

He’s tried not to think about the last month or so. It’s been so lonely, without Jesus. Like those early weeks all by himself thinking he really was alone Down There. Plus, there’s this new panicky feeling...like Isaac did something really wrong by calling Jesus, even though Jesus’s mom and his own mom said it was okay.

Honestly, it’s really making Isaac hate himself.

He hasn’t told Mom about it. Doesn’t want to worry her or have her get in the middle of it and try to smooth it over. Isaac doesn’t want Jesus’s family to think Isaac’s some baby who can’t handle real life. It’s bad enough that’s what his own family thinks.

“We’ll leave at 1:30, exactly, okay?” Mom promises. “No matter what’s going on.”

“1:30 we start leaving, or 1:30 we’re driving home?” Isaac checks.

“We’ll leave the house at 1:30 to come back to our house,” Mom clarifies. 

“And you won’t let them touch me?” Isaac asks, worried, pulling at the itchy collar of his sweater. It feels like too many clothes. And they’re definitely too nice for him.

“Right, I won’t let them touch you,” Mom reassures.

“Because I don’t want to hug anybody,” Isaac warns. “Or have anybody hug  _ me _ …”

“I know, sweetie,” Mom says. She yawns. Isaac’s been up with nightmares every night practically. Most people think since it’s been five months those would be over now, but they’re not. He was gone for almost six. He still hasn’t been here as long as he was There.

And just like that, Isaac feels like the worst person in life. Here he is complaining in his head about being There for almost six months when Jesus was There for two years and nine months.

He zones out and looks out the window.

They pull into Steve and Meryl’s driveway and warily, Isaac gets out. Charles jumps out, too. It feels good to have him here. Mom says he should have as many safe things as he wants. Well, he wants Charles, and her. Even though neither one of them are things.

Isaac slips his hand into Mom’s. Holds tight. 

She rings the bell, and he can hear it distantly inside.

The minute the door opens, noises and smells hit Isaac all at once. Meryl’s saying hi to Mom like they didn’t just see each other in July...but Isaac guesses that’s kind of a long time.

“So good to see you! Come in! Hi, Isaac,” she says.

He goes behind Mom to avoid Meryl’s hugs and kisses. “Hey,” he mutters.

The minute they go inside, Isaac’s checking his phone. 

1:03. 

1:04. 

When Steve says the longest grace ever, Isaac can’t help himself and grabs a still-warm biscuit with butter. He grabs the honey, too. And the honey-bear makes this huge embarrassing fart noise.

Bee and Briar start laughing.

“Isaac, can you be a little patient, please?” Steve asks, but there’s an undertone of something in his voice.

“Sorry,” he apologizes. 

(Isaac remembers all about having to be patient. Having to ignore that He was eating. Having to not make a move toward food until He said “Okay,” like Ike was some dog. There would be a time limit. There always was. One minute. Two. For Isaac to eat as much as he could before it was taken away. He didn’t know he’d basically have to do the same thing here.)

The buttery-honeyish biscuit just sits there. Isaac distracts himself, taking off his socks and shoes under the table. He can feel Charles, warm under his bare feet now. So much better.

Finally, Steve says “Amen,” and Isaac picks up the biscuit and eats it in two huge bites.

“Slow down,” Mom cautions.

“Isaac, that was so funny when you made the honey fart!” Briar giggles.

He smiles a little.

“Enough,” Steve interjects. “That was inappropriate.”

Isaac isn’t sure if he’s talking about Briar or him. He gets that feeling inside again. Where badness just grows and grows until he feels super-awful.

The adults talk and it makes Isaac know for sure he’s not getting as much better as he thought. Over the months, he’s been able to do stuff with more people. Like Trunk-or-Treating. Now, though, he’s just feeling close to being done with all of it. It’s too much noise. Too many smells. Too much scolding.

If Steve thinks that one thing was inappropriate, what would he do if he ever knew some of the stuff that was done to Isaac? Some of the stuff Ike had to do? Just to stay alive?

He reaches for a new biscuit. Then the rest on the plate, because he doesn’t want anybody to take them. He opens them all and covers them in honey.

“There’s turkey here. Stuffing. Mashed potatoes. Desserts,” Meryl lists, trying to offer Isaac other food but he shakes his head, eating another biscuit.

“Hey! It’s not fair you ate that!” Briar says. “The whole family needs bread, not just you…” she pouts.

“You don’t even like biscuits, Briar,” Bee points out. Then, she turns to Isaac. “Is it true you had to wear a blindfold all the time?” 

“Uh...yeah…” Isaac answers, still not sure what to do about these questions.

“Beatrice, honey. Not at the table,” Steve reprimands.

(If it’s not appropriate to talk about Ike’s life There at the table, where can he talk about it? The office with Krista? That’s not fair. Everybody else gets to talk about their whole lives, even at the table…)

Isaac’s eaten five butter and honey biscuits by the time it’s 1:25. Mom keeps her word and starts getting ready to go then. Isaac crawls underneath the table for his shoes. It reminds him too much of being chained. He shudders. But he finds his socks and shoes and fumbles to put them on.

They rush to leave and Meryl and Steve make a big deal about how they don’t see Mom enough anymore.

“We just miss you, Allie. That’s all we’re saying,” Meryl says. She lowers her voice. “You’re Steve and Scott’s only connection to Shane. They need to see you more than just a few times a year.”

“Well, they’re just going to have to deal with seeing me however often they see me. I’m Isaac’s mom first,” she insists, and it makes Isaac feel proud and ashamed all at once.

\--

“Are you mad at me?” Isaac checks when they’ve driven down the road a while in silence. 

“No, honey. I’m mad at your uncles. For not treating you better,” Mom admits, sniffing back her tears.

“Do you think Dad would think I’m inappropriate now?” Isaac asks.

“I think if your dad were here, none of this would have ever happened…” Mom admits.

It makes Isaac feel strange inside.

When they get home, Isaac flops on the living room floor with Charles. The blinds are down, so it makes it pretty dark. That helps.

“Hey. Looks like you got a letter,” Mom tosses it to him. 

Isaac surprises himself by catching it. He opens the envelope and reads:

_ Dear Izik, I’m sorry my moms won’t let us hang out any more. It was not my idea I swair. I miss you. I hope you are okay. Your Bro, Jesus PS They don’t know I’m sending this so please dont tell. _

Isaac feels tears spring to his eyes. He can’t hold them back anymore. Not about this. It sounds so final. Jesus can’t be his friend anymore.

“Oh, honey… What’s wrong? Did you and Jesus have a fight?” Mom asks as Isaac breaks down sobbing.

He shakes his head and crumples the letter in his hands. “I hate this! I hate everything! I don’t know how to  _ be  _ here, Mom!” Isaac gasps and tries to breathe. He feels like he might be sick. “Before...our only goal was to stay alive. But we had each other...and now...and now…” Isaac shoves the crumpled ball at her and cries into Charles’s fur.

“Honey…” Mom says, sounding shocked. “I’m so sorry. I’ll fix this, I promise. You won’t lose your friend.”

But Isaac isn’t so sure about that.

\--

“Hi, is this Lena?” Allie asks the following night, after locating her phone number via her Facebook. 

“Yes, it is,” the voice on the other end answers, “Mari, don’t let Frankie get into that. I’m sorry, who is this?”

“Allison Martin. I’m Isaac’s mom. He’s been really upset since Halloween. He was told that Jesus was just trying to move forward, and he can’t be stuck in the past?”

“Right… He must’ve talked to Stef. She can be a little blunt. But the thing is...when Jesus talks to Isaac? He gets worse. We’re just trying to help him get back to regular life…”

“If I may?” Allie volunteers. “I’ve found, the more Isaac is pushed toward regular life? The harder time he has…”

“Well, our boys must be very different in that way. Jesus is the complete opposite…”

“Well, why don’t we let Isaac and Jesus decide if they want to keep the friendship?” Allie offers.

“Because they’re twelve,” Lena remarks. “Kids don’t know what’s good for them at twelve.”

“Okay… Lena… Did you have a best friend in junior high? I did. My best friend’s mother kept her away from me...for reasons I never entirely figured out. But whether you’re the one who’s being shielded or the one who’s wondering what the heck is happening, this is hurting them. Haven’t our sons been hurt enough?”

Lena is silent on the other end of the call, but still listening.

“Isaac and Jesus are the only two people in the world who know what it was like to go through what they went through. They need each other.”

“I suppose I can talk to Stef again. See if we can come up with an arrangement that would suit all of us,” Lena admits.

“If it isn’t too forward...I had a suggestion…”


	7. Un-Christmas

“Mom…” Isaac calls from inside his fort on her bedroom floor that night. “We didn’t do Thanksmas…”

“No, we didn’t,” Mom admits. “...Did you want to?”

“No. I don’t really want Christmas-anything, to be honest,” Isaac says quietly, petting Charles. “Because it’s just… It’s not Christmas anymore. It’s something bad…” Isaac waits a long time but Mom doesn’t respond. “...Did I hurt your feelings?” he whispers. “Did you fall asleep?”

“No, honey,” Mom says. (Isaac smiles a little, thinking about the honey-bear farting right in the middle of Thanksgiving.) I was thinking that I agree.”

“So...what do we do then?” Isaac asks. “Are we allowed to just...not have Christmas?” Ike feels unease inside him, like he always does thinking about anything related to being There. “I mean...won’t we go to hell?” 

“Who told you that?” Mom asks, shocked.

“Who do you think?” Isaac asks, quiet. “He always said God protected Him. That He’s for sure going to heaven...but Mom….I don’t want Him to hurt Dad.”

“Ike… He was a bad man. He told you a lot of things that just weren’t true,” Mom begins.

“I don’t want to be in heaven if He’s there…” Isaac worries. “Can Dad relocate? Is there another heaven?”

“Can I come over there? Not inside just...so we can see each other?” Mom asks.

“Yes,” Isaac nods. He opens the flap that works as his door, and Mom’s face is right there. “We will not go to hell for not celebrating Christmas. God understands. Dad is safe in heaven. That’s why there are gates with guards, so people like the man who hurt you and Jesus can’t ever get in.”

“How strong are the bars?” Isaac asks.

“Well, they’re eternal, so I’d guess...pretty strong. I don’t think it’s a matter of physical strength,” Mom muses. “Who would be strong enough to pry the doors open, but more who the doors would open for… I think ultimately, it might be an automatic door, except God’s in charge of admitting people or not. So, if God saw the man who hurt you trying to get in, he’d be like, ‘ _Nope. Sorry._ ’”

“Steel and brick,” Ike says after a minute. “That’s what jail bars are made of, see? I Googled it.” Isaac lies back on his blankets. “I think that’s what heaven’s gates should be made of, too. Just, you know, for extra safety. They could paint them gold.. You know, for the enjoyment factor, and so the people in heaven know they’re not locked in…” 

Isaac’s eyes drift closed.

\--

As the day gets closer and closer, Isaac’s concentration gets worse and worse. He can’t focus on school stuff. He gets frustrated easily, yelling and eventually crying if he makes the tiniest mistake. Or just completely refusing to do a persuasive essay, because every time it got brought up, Isaac lost it.

Before all this, Isaac was a pretty calm kid. Always doing his assignments. Doing whatever he was told. But he just couldn’t do this. Why wouldn’t his tutor take a clue?

_(It is not safe to take part in extreme activities for entertainment?_ Who thought _that_ was a good topic for a kid who’d lived locked in a basement and chained to a pole for almost six months? By someone who totally did extreme things to Isaac just for entertainment?)

After talking to Krista, she insists the persuasive essay clearly isn’t good for Ike’s mental wellness. His tutor can quiz him to see if he understands the concepts without making him write something awful. She does, and Ike still feels gross, but a little more stable at least.

It makes him nervous, being in less control, because December 25th is coming closer and closer. He and Krista and Mom have all discussed “anniversary reactions” and how things might get more difficult for Ike as the day gets closer. And there’s really only one thing he wants.

But how is Ike supposed to deserve it if he keeps acting like some kid who has problems? Mom’s never gonna want to give him anything.

It’s three weeks away, when she asks, “What did you wanna do...for your day?” She’s busy doing work on her computer so that makes it easier to talk to her.

“Well...I know I don’t really deserve this...but...I just kinda wanna hang out with Jesus that day. That’s it,” Isaac admits. “But that can pretty much never happen because we’re not even allowed to be friends anymore...which sucks…”

“What do you mean you don’t think you deserve it?” Mom asks, not turning around to look at him, thank goodness. (He’s busy shoving packages of peanut butter Ritz Bitz in his jeans.)

“Just...I know I’ve been acting out… I’m sorry,” he apologizes.

“Honey, I know you’re dealing with a lot. I’m not happy that you’re struggling but I am happy you feel safe expressing yourself here.”

Ike’s about to put the empty cracker-box away when he catches sight of a different one. Hostess. Swiss Cake Rolls. But they remind him enough. He takes out the box gingerly and brings it to Mom.

“You know...on my birthday? Jesus brought me these...except it wasn’t these. They were cupcakes. Chocolate. With white stuff in the middle. Chocolate frosting and a white swirl on top. I was really hungry and he brought me that. I said he should have the other one because they came in twos...and it was gonna be his real birthday a week later.”

“I’m so glad you were there for each other. Would you like cupcakes like these again?” Mom asks.

“Yes!” Isaac exclaims, too loud. “I’d _love_ them…” He hugs her once, very fast and then moves away, thinking about if there’s any possible way to hide the entire box of Swiss Cake Rolls on him somewhere to take to his room.

“I think your pocket full of Ritz is enough for now, sweetie. You can always have more food. I just don’t want you to make yourself sick.”

That makes him think of Charles. What might happen if he gets into the Swiss Cake Rolls, if Ike hides them in his room. “Can I at least have the box?” he bargains, taking out the cake rolls and putting them in the pantry.

“Yeah...you can have the box…” Mom says, like she’s confused.

“Thanks!” Isaac beams and takes it to his room. When he gets there, his heart falls. He realizes, the person he wanted to share this with most was Jesus...and they’re not talking right now.

\--

The next night, with Isaac asleep, Allie decides to Facebook message Lena again. She’d been receptive to Allie’s suggestion that perhaps Ike and Jesus could be in touch at least once a week. But it’s now been over a week since that conversation, and the first attempt at contact had fallen through.

**_Allie:_ **

_Hi, Lena. Just checking in. I checked with Isaac to see if he has anything in particular he wants for Christmas. He said he just wants to be able to hang out with Jesus._

**_Lena:_ **

_Funny you should mention that… We just collected Christmas lists by all the kids. Most are full of electronics, toys, what have you… Jesus’s only has one thing on it: See Isaac._

**_Allie:_ **

_Oh…_

**_Lena:_ **

_It truly is the only thing he wants...and it feels unbelievably selfish to keep him from getting to spend time with his friend, especially when we’ve all gotten the best Christmas gift we could ask for. We got our son back. Stef and I want to give him everything we can...but Stef and I have been going over and over it and we just can’t see how we can travel with Jesus for four hours one way when he struggles so much in cars...not to mention securing childcare for our other five._

**_Allie:_ **

_Well, Isaac and I would be happy to drive down to pick up Jesus. We could come Christmas Eve. Isaac and Jesus could spend Christmas Day together and you could pick him up on the 26th. Still a lot of drive time, but less if we split it._

**_Lena:_ **

_Let me talk to Stef. Just a min._

**_Lena:_ **

_Hi, r u Izik’s Mom? This is Jesus…_

**_Allie:_ **

_Yes, I am Isaac’s mom. You can call me Allie. Nice to meet you, Jesus._

**_Lena:_ **

_Can I rly come 2 ur house_

**_Allie:_ **

_I hope so. Isaac does, too._

**_Lena:_ **

_Me to but I dont like Christmas stuff so can it just b a regular day?_

**_Allie:_ **

_Like, what kinds of Christmas stuff?_

**_Lena:_ **

_Like, music, tree, stocking, presents, smells, decorating._

**_Allie:_ **

_Well, Ike and I don’t usually celebrate Christmas around here, so we don’t have any of that stuff around. Isaac sleeps in a fort in my room. Would you like your own fort, in another room?_

**_Lena:_ **

_I sleep under are piano_

**_Allie:_ **

_Well, we don’t have a piano, but our dining room table is sturdy. Dining room has carpet. Would that work?_

**_Lena:_ **

_Does it have chairs_

**_Allie:_ **

_Yes, 4._

**_Lena:_ **

_OK by thanx._

**_Lena:_ **

_Hi. Lena here again. I’m so sorry. I had no idea Jesus was going to do that._

**_Allie:_ **

_No trouble._

**_Lena:_ **

_We will celebrate as a family on the 23rd._

**_Allie:_ **

_Wonderful. Then, Isaac and I can arrive at say 1 PM Christmas Eve? We’ll be back here by 5 PM. I’ll be sure Jesus calls._

**_Lena:_ **

_Yes, please. And we will be there ASAP to pick up Jesus on the 26th. Will you be okay with him overnight?_

**_Allie:_ **

_I think they’ll do better together than apart. Talk soon._

\--

“Wake up, honey,” Mom calls. “We’ve got to get a move on, if we’re going to go get Jesus…”

Ike’s about to groan and grumble and pull the pillow over his head when his brain finally figures out what the heck Mom just said. He sticks his head out of the fort - his hair finally short - so it’s sticking up every direction - when he says “What?”

“I told Lena we’d be there to get him at 1 PM. So we need to get on the road,” Mom smiles.

Isaac barrels out of the fort and straight into her arms, hugging her as tight as he can. He starts sobbing, going, “Really? He’s coming here for real?”

“Yes. He’s coming here for real. He wants to see you just as much as you want to see him. When his parents realized that, they agreed to let him come and stay at our house for the weekend. They’ll be here Monday to pick him up!”

“Oh, my God…” Isaac sobs. “This is a dream.”

“No, honey. You’re awake. I promise you. I’m sorry for surprising you like this, but I didn’t want to get your hopes up if it fell through, but everything’s set. They celebrated early as a family. Turns out Jesus doesn’t like Christmas stuff very much apparently…” Mom confides, wiping Ike’s tears gently.

“He’s lucky he’s coming here then,” Isaac sniffs, trying to get a grip.

“I know, right? Let’s get some breakfast and get dressed, and get you and Charles in the car so we can go to Jesus’s.”

Isaac runs as fast as he can. He hurries to eat his bowl of Frosted Flakes. Packs an extra travel Frosted Flakes for Jesus with a spoon. Then he gets dressed, almost forgetting deodorant, but his sweat reminds him. Thank goodness.

They get in the car at 8:59. Just in the nick of time.

The only horrible part is they have to drive through LA to get to Jesus. So, Mom teaches him the words to this one song she knows. The real version is “I love L.A.” But they sing it, “I Hate L.A.” It helps. Charles helps. Having three lunches packed in the car helps. (One for Ike, one for Mom and a third for Jesus, if he’s hungry) helps.

Finally, they’re out of LA. And then finally after even longer, they’re at Jesus’s house. It’s really nice. And big. 

Nervous, all of a sudden, Ike takes Mom’s hand and slinks behind her. What if this doesn’t work out after all? But she squeezes his hand and rings their fancy doorbell.

Jesus answers the door.

They stare at each other.

“You grew,” Isaac points out, almost an accusation.

“You’re way fatter now,” Jesus nods, approving. “Not, like, fat. Just, you know, not sick skinny.”

“Uh… This is my mom…” Isaac introduces, not sure what else to say to that.

“Hi, Jesus, I’m Allie,” Mom says.

“My family’s in there,” Jesus jerks his thumb behind him. “I’m going,” he calls into the house behind him.

“Hold on,” a voice calls after him. And the blonde cop mom is there, in her uniform even. 

Isaac gulps. 

“Hello. I’m Stef Adams Foster. You must be Allie...and Isaac. Nice to meet you,” she greets, even though Isaac doesn’t say anything back.

“Okay, you met them. Can I go now?” Jesus asks.

“I need you to call me the minute you get there. Do you understand?” Stef asks in an intense way that makes Ike nervous.

“ _Yes,_ ” Jesus complains. “Jeez, Stef, you already said all this…”

Stef laughs in a way that sounds forced. “Okay then. You guys have fun. Lena and I will be there to pick you up Monday morning. Early afternoon at the latest.”

“Oh, take your time…” Isaac reassures. “Bye!” he waves, realizing Jesus is already on his way to the car to stow his sleeping bag and trash bag of clothes in the back seat.

Isaac can see the minute before Mom is gonna comment about Jesus’s trash bag. He squeezes her hand. Shakes his head at her. “Don’t. We hate suitcases, okay?” he whispers.

“Okay…” Mom says.

“No way,” Jesus beams looking in the back window. “That’s Charles?”

“Yeah,” Isaac laughs. “That’s him.”

They get in and it takes Jesus a million years to buckle his seat belt. When he does, Isaac offers him the lunch they packed. “Here. Just in case you get hungry.”

“Oh, that reminds me,” Jesus says, reaching into his hooded sweatshirt for a chocolate pudding and a spoon.

“Mom!” Jesus gave me chocolate pudding!” Isaac yells, super pumped.

“That’s so thoughtful,” Mom says. “Thanks, Jesus.”

Jesus shrugs. “It’s nothing. I did it all the time Before.”

\--

After they eat, there’s not much to do. Isaac falls asleep on Charles and wakes up hours later. Jesus is asleep, too, his head on Isaac’s head. His hand nestled in Charles’s fur.

Ike stays still until they hit a bump and Jesus wakes up. There’s a second where he looks like he doesn’t know where he is. Where he looks really crabby. And then in the next second, he’s awake.

“You said you didn’t cut your hair…” Jesus points out, low.

“I just decided to,” Isaac says.

“Dude, will you cut mine?” Jesus asks, only half-joking. “I hate how long it’s getting.”

“I guess…” Ike shrugs. “I mean...we’re still bros, right?”

“Totally…” Jesus nods.

\--

Having Jesus at Isaac’s house for his day is the best thing that could possibly happen. Because it’s a big distraction from the awfulness of the day. They spend most of their time putting together Isaac’s Lego Hogwarts Express. And then they move on to one of his Star Wars sets. And then an Atlantis one.

Jesus is an excellent builder. He’s so focused. Together, they make a great team. It’s quiet and nice. Mom’s reading Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows and she keeps asking if they want to hear this part or that one.

Mostly, they don’t, but it’s nice that she’s here.

There’s one point when Charles comes through and his tail knocks over the Legos that they’ve been spending hours working on. Both Isaac and Jesus jump and look at each other, freaked out.

“Okay. That was Charles. His tail accidentally knocked over your Legos. He’s sorry. Right, Charles?” Mom asks.

Charles whimpers, and hangs his head. Isaac hugs him and whispers “It’s okay,” but Jesus is still staring, wide eyed.

“Here, where did this piece go again?” Ike asks, scooting one over toward Jesus now that Charles is lying down by Mom’s chair.

Slowly, Jesus reaches for it. “Uh...here...I think…” he says.

“It happens to me, too,” Isaac whispers. “It’s okay.”

\--

When Mom’s making dinner, Isaac keeps his word and goes to find Mom’s pink-handled scissors. 

“I’m cutting Jesus’s hair,” he announces.

“Okay. Will you guys hang around here?” she asks. 

Isaac groans.

“The light’s really good out there,” Jesus points out, nodding to the kitchen.

So, Jesus stands there under the really good kitchen light, while he directs Isaac just which parts of his hair he wants cut. 

“All of it,” he says.

“You’re sure…” Isaac checks. “All of it like _all_ of it? Or all of it like you’ll be mad when you look in the mirror?”

“So it’s not hanging in my eyes or touching my collar…” Jesus specifies.

Isaac’s done just in time to sit down to dinner that Mom heated up. He sweeps the hair and throws it away, feeling weird about leaving all the little pieces of Jesus’s DNA on the floor.

“Dude,” Jesus lights up. “Is this The Boston Market? _I had_ this! When Stef came to get me and drove me home!”

“Oh, I’m glad I chose a winner,” Mom says.

They eat in silence and then there’s dessert. Isaac and Jesus look at each other, breaking into huge grins:

“Ice cream sundaes!” they yell.

Isaac can’t pile on enough stuff. It’s just regular vanilla ice cream, but Mom made her homemade caramel sauce, plus she has chocolate syrup, chocolate chips, those little cherries, bananas, sprinkles, Oreo cookies with the holiday filling and so much more. Isaac piles it all on.

“Dude, is this just like your dream?” Jesus asks. “Your dream sundae we talked about?”

Isaac licks his spoon. “It’s so much better.”

“Because it’s real, right?” Jesus asks. He gets a distant look in his eyes and mumbles. “We did it.”

“We really actually did it,” Isaac sharing the wonder of the moment, while Mom probably wonders what the heck they’re talking about.

Speaking of Mom.

“Can you please take a picture of this ice cream?” Isaac begs, just barely holding himself back from digging in.

“Sure,” Mom says. Isaac hands his phone over...and she aims it at the bowls.

“It can…” Jesus starts. “I mean...we can be in it, too...if you want…” he offers. “You know...for when we need proof. That this really happened. We really got away…”

“And had awesome ice cream sundaes!” Isaac smiles.

“Alright, get together, you two,” Mom chides, laughing.

Isaac leans his face close enough to Jesus that he can hear his thoughts. They hold their bowls up, triumphant.

Then they’re digging in, each automatically stopping halfway and offering their dish to the other. Sharing food has become a part of what they do. Who they are. How they see each other.

“Love you, bro,” Isaac says, finishing off Jesus’s ice cream.

“Love you, bro,” Jesus responds, practically licking out the ice cream in Isaac’s bowl.

When they finish, it’s like they don’t even think about it: they both raise their spoons to clink against each other.

It’s a celebration.

Of home...and aliveness...and Isaac’s favorite people in the world.


End file.
